Snape the Ripper
by Dathomir
Summary: Snape is left to contemplate the happy things in life. Not. Actually, it involves firewhisky, a powderblue Ford Anglia, and a horcrux rocking chair. Please Read and review. First time writer. Flames will be extinguished. More inside. Yr Hmble Srvnt, HobCy
1. Recognition and firewhisky

This is my first submitted fanfic. I hope it pleases your baser instincts. It was originally written for the Deathly Hallows forum, and indeed you can find it there still. It works off one of my (many) theories: that the Ford Anglia is one of Voldemort's horcruxes. Please read and review, and I might be pressed to add a second chapter and more if there is enough demand (e.g. one positive review.) All the best, Hobbit Cyborg.

Snape the Ripper

Chapter 1: Recognition

The acid rain poured down, adding even further to the awful smell that permeated the house, approximately 50 of which was shampoo, and the other half dirt that was to be shampooed out. Exactly why Snape was washing his hair with gear lube was a mystery, but he was. It was one of the ways he let off steam. He was lying in his bathtub in the middle of the auspicious flat he kept in London for when he was in town, (former inhabitants: Jack the Ripper, Dorian Gray, and Princess Di.) The floorboards were a sort of brown that did not exactly encourage a closer look, while with the walls he had been partially successful: instead of the desiccated off-(way, way off) white that the walls had been before, Snape had succeeded in applying three layers of really snarky black paint, and, in one of his fits of ingenuity, he had made the paint glow in the dark. This made it all the more easy to read his grease-stained books with titles like, "Now, Discover Your Strengths."

Snape was interrupted in his ablutions by a rattle on the door. Not a knock, a rattle. Snape rolled his eyes and threw a wet towel at the door, murmuring some things not suitable for a freely-accessed forum, and got up, wrapping another towel around himself. He knew the hex in the door would alert him if the being that waited outside was a magical threat, and it was blank and silent. It escaped his notice that the dark surface of the hexglass was playing Spongebob Squarepants reruns to Beethoven's Fifth. He walked across the room and opened the door, plugging his nose against the cool, fresh air that now descended upon him. When the fit of coughing past, Snape kept his eyes closed. He had the distinct impression that he could hear an idling engine. His mind told him that this might have been due to the amount of firewhisky he had consumed in the last week, which could have floated the Queen Mary, fully loaded. He finally opened his eyes and saw before him a powder-blue Ford Anglia, much the worse for wear, idling and grinning at him sadistically. It blinked one of its headlights roguishly. Snape cursed himself for picking a building with extra-wide hallways and a heavy duty elevator. He again murmured something under his breath, something involving fleas and the Jaws of Life. He stood aside, letting the car roll into his spacious room. The floor creaked menacingly, but the car dropped a small puddle of oil on it contemptuously, and the floor gave an especially indignant groan before falling silent. Snape sat in his favorite armchair, the one he had inherited from dear old Aunt Margaret.

Actually, the chair had Aunt Margaret in it, so to speak, as when Snape first acquired the chair he could sense from a mile away that it was a horcrux. Aunt Margaret was at the nursing home during this time, and had bequeathed all her belongings, including the chair. By the time she died, Snape had trapped the horcrux in the chair forever, using a special varnish made out of amortentia and sawdust. This had the double benefit of keeping away the termites.

The chair spat something out of its radiator, backfiring loudly. Snape bent down and picked up the sheet of paper, and scanned it quickly. His eyes grew wide. He smote the car soundly on the hood, and in the same motion pinched its hood ornament and pocketed it for later use. The car tried to murder him savagely by pushing him and his chair out the window, but he was saved from this when the chair suddenly gave a sort of cough, and ejected him. He was flung across the room and lay against the wall, half-stunned.

An eerie green shadow began to emanate from the chair, making shrill, indistinct noises. A red shadow was at the same time pulsating out of the Anglia, murmuring to itself in a low baritone. Suddenly, the two shadows became aware of each other's presence and began circling each other like cats, yelling at the top of their lungs.

"I've been trapped in this rickety old chair for the last thirty years! I deserve revenge!" screamed the chair-shadow, making a jab at one side of the other shadow, which it dodged.

"I was sent through years of torture and half-life because this crooked-nosed, greasy excuse for a man could not even decide if he liked me or not!" replied the car-shadow petulantly. The shadows continued circling until the both left the room through the open patio door. Snape could still vaguely hear their yells on the deck. Suddenly, there was a great crash and the voices stopped abruptly. Below in the street, someone screamed. Snape suddenly noticed a bottle of firewhisky on the floor next to him, and decided to devote his remaining mental faculties to consuming it. Happy that he had once again committed his soul to the devil, which gave him a nice, warm feeling inside, he attempted to throw the empty bottle at the growing noise on the street. He missed badly, hitting the Prince family crest above the fire place. He cursed again under his breath, this one involving no fewer than sixteen jars of pickle relish and a turkey baster.

In the morning, his hangover was so severe that the blue car in his living room was just something to lean against as he half-walked, half-crawled his way to the bathroom, guided by the smell.


	2. Idiocy

Hi, guys. Here's chapter 2, even more random. As always, r&r.

Chapter 2: Idiocy

Snape's expression could only be described as "unpleasant." If anyone would have seen it, it would have elicited shock, and possibly mild nausea. It looked somewhat like the last expression of someone who had died horribly and in great pain. Snape, however, was not near death. He thought he was, but this was only because his hangover felt as if he was being repeatedly being hit with a rather large mallet on the top of his head, with some hits on the side and back of the head for variety. Snape cursed himself under his breath, and such was the oath he used that a dark, hooded shadow appeared before him, stretching out its shadowy hand toward him. Snape rolled his eyes and banished it with a flick of his wand. It gave a final, slightly eerie giggle, and disappeared with a wet pop. Snape half-heartedly tried to kick the light blue car that was perched prettily upon the remains of his china cabinet. He missed by almost ten feet. This put him in an even lower mood, and after he had emptied the aspirin bottle into his mouth, choked, and spat most of the pills onto the floor, he lay back in the chair and waited to die peacefully.

When he awoke, the pain had receded a little, so that moving slowly elicited no more than a feeble mallet-hit on his head. Snape got up from the chair and lit a cigarette which he found hanging from his mouth. The resulting explosion showed him his error: the cigarette was really a mercury thermometer that he had put there that morning, thinking that he had a fever. The explosion was caused by his foolish application of a match to the mercury in the bottom of the thermometer. Snape's eyebrows were reduced considerably.

When he glanced down at his now-smoking clothes, however, his mood lifted. They were deliciously ugly and already were beginning to assume his normal wet dog/bleach smell, though he had only worn them for a day. Plus, the smoke about him gave him an ethereal air that he rather enjoyed.

Suddenly, a paper came through the mail slit at the speed of sound or better and hit Snape on the side of the head, causing him to drop unconscious, but not before he got off an especially powerful _Avada Kedavra, _aimed at the door and the paper boy snickering behind it. Instead, it hit the portrait above the mantelpiece, which immediately burst into long, loud sobs.

Snape awoke when he felt the pleasant sensation of a tire running over his leg. He yelled in pain and, with a well-placed _Accio, _broke the tire from its axle and sent it careening toward his head. Snape barely had time to swear, duck, and drink a pint of firewhisky before the tire veered suddenly and reattached itself to the axle. The car whose axle it was tooted its horn in what Snape would describe as an indignant manner. Snape threw his empty pint-glass at the car, which glanced off the hood and broke against the wall.

Using the car for support, Snape arose to an erect position. Immediately, he began kicking and yelling at the car. As if the grievances he had already suffered at the hands of the automobile, it suddenly occurred to him, mid-rant, that the car had been responsible for the loss of his favorite rocker, the one with Aunt Margaret's soul in it. This, as we can imagine, only added to his fervor. Behind him, out of the floor-to-ceiling windows that were almost too dirty to see out of, the sun was setting.


End file.
